


all things soft and bright and beautiful

by andrewminyards



Series: we are all the pieces of what we remember [4]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bard Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Fluff, Human Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Role Reversal, Slice of Life, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, Witcher Jaskier | Dandelion, a bit of body worship, bathing after a hunt trope but make it reverse au, tender bathing and kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:00:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26975542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andrewminyards/pseuds/andrewminyards
Summary: “Here, let me,” Geralt murmurs, prying Jaskier’s hands away from the straps of his armour. Careful to avoid jostling Jaskier’s wound, Geralt unbuckles Jaskier’s armour with gentle hands, exposing his body bit by bit.“Into the bath,” Geralt orders once Jaskier’s armour is fully off. He lets his gaze roam over the lines of Jaskier’s bare body, familiar from the past few years he’s spent exploring and relearning it, lets his gaze roam over strong shoulders and scarred skin as Jaskier steps into the bath, settling down into the warm, soapy water.The tension leaks from Jaskier’s shoulders as Geralt brushes his fingers through his hair, carefully working through the tangles, and Jaskier sinks into his touch, leaning back with a low, contented sigh.*Written for Witchertober Day 12: Baths, featuring Reverse AU where Geralt helps bathe Jaskier after a hunt.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: we are all the pieces of what we remember [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1895686
Comments: 20
Kudos: 117





	all things soft and bright and beautiful

**Author's Note:**

> yes i know i literally posted a chapter of witcher jaskier bathing together with geralt a few days ago but i’m a sucker for tender bath scenes and i also love this reverse au very much, so please enjoy

Pacing the room of the inn, Geralt worries at his bottom lip, casting glances at the window every few seconds, watching as the sun sinks lower in the sky, the streets starting to clear as townspeople start heading home to their families. Geralt waits, waits for Jaskier to return, waits for the contract to be completed, and worry churns within him.

Please let Jaskier be safe.

Finally, when the sun dips just below the horizon, colouring the sky with streaks of pink and orange and coral, Jaskier stumbles back to the inn room, armour bloodied and smeared with guts, hair matted and dirty, and Geralt leaps up, hands fluttering anxiously over Jaskier.

“Are you alright?” he frets, flitting around Jaskier, trying to check if Jaskier has managed to injure himself, but the heavy weight of worry in his gut slowly subsides at the sight of Jaskier, whole and alive.

“It went fine,” Jaskier says, voice rough and low. When he bends down slightly to set his swords down, the blades black from ichor, he winces, and Geralt is by his side in an instant, eyes alert for any sign of injury until his eyes catch on a long gash on Jaskier’s side, bleeding sluggishly but already healing.

“Jaskier -”

“I’m fine,” Jaskier dismisses. “It’ll heal soon enough, I just want a bath.”

Heart panging at being unable to do something, anything to help take away Jaskier’s pain, Geralt watches as Jaskier reaches up to grasp at the straps of his armour, and Geralt takes a step forward, covering Jaskier’s hands with his own.

“Here, let me,” Geralt murmurs, prying Jaskier’s hands away from the buckles of his armour. Careful to avoid jostling Jaskier’s wound, Geralt unbuckles Jaskier’s armour with gentle hands, practised from decades of taking off his own armour in his old life, setting the armour pieces to the side once he’s taken them off. As he takes off the armour bit by bit, Jaskier watches him silently with steady golden eyes, and for a moment, Geralt pauses in his ministrations as their eyes meet, and Jaskier’s gaze softens as he gives Geralt a small smile, raising a gloved hand to brush over Geralt’s cheek. 

Geralt leans into the touch, the leather of Jaskier’s glove soft against his face, and Jaskier leans in to press a slow kiss to Geralt’s lips, his fingers a soft caress on Geralt’s cheek. Geralt clutches at the straps of Jaskier’s armour, a wave of affection rushing over him as Jaskier cards his other hand through the wild curls of Geralt’s hair.

After a few seconds, Geralt tugs insistently at Jaskier’s armour, and Jaskier pulls away, his hand falling to his side. Geralt takes off the remaining pieces of Jaskier’s armour and takes each of Jaskier’s hands in his, pulling the leather gloves off.

“Into the bath,” Geralt orders, even as he lets his gaze roam over the lines of Jaskier’s body, familiar from the past few years he’s spent exploring and relearning it, lets his gaze roam over strong shoulders and scarred skin as Jaskier steps into the bath, settling down into the warm, soapy water, the tension leaking from his shoulders.

As Geralt goes to fetch his oils and soaps, Jaskier dunks his head into the water, resurfacing with damp hair clinging to the side of his face. Sitting at the edge of the bath, Geralt brushes his fingers through Jaskier’s hair, carefully working through the tangles, and Jaskier sinks into his touch, leaning back with a low, contented sigh.

“Mm,” Jaskier rumbles, and Geralt smiles as he runs gentle fingers through Jaskier’s hair once more, remembering the way Jaskier used to do the same for him after a hunt, taking care of him with tender hands and whispered words. He remembers how good it felt, surrounded by the warmth of the bath and the wonderful feeling of Jaskier’s hands on him, remembers the way his breaths would even out and a peaceful haze would settle over his mind, and as he looks at Jaskier, sprawled out lazily in the tub, Geralt wants to give Jaskier that very same feeling, of joy and contentment and warmth.

He washes the dirt from Jaskier’s hair, a gleaming silver emerging from underneath the grime, and, satisfied with his work, Geralt smooths his hands over Jaskier’s shoulders. 

“Get up,” he murmurs, lips grazing Jaskier’s ear, and Jaskier turns his head to briefly peck his cheek before pushing himself up with inhuman grace. 

Geralt lets his eyes wander shamelessly over Jaskier’s body, wet and glistening from the bath, droplets dripping over the lines of his muscles, and he’s unable to stop himself from resisting the magnetic pull of that body as he reaches out to _touch_ , Jaskier’s body warm and alive under his hands.

“Beautiful,” Geralt whispers, tracing his fingers over a long, jagged scar running from Jaskier’s collarbone to the top of his ribs, a scar from a kikimora three decades ago, and Jaskier lets out a low huff of a laugh.

“Sure,” Jaskier agrees, a hint of self-deprecation lurking in his voice, and Geralt feels his mouth twist downwards. He knows Jaskier’s issues with his body, knows it because Jaskier had whispered it to him in a hushed confession the first time he’d gotten naked in front of Geralt in this world, knows it because once upon a time, he had felt the same. 

Back when he’d been a witcher, Geralt had hated his scars, hated how they marred his body, how everyone would recoil from the sight of them, but Jaskier had always, always loved them, pressing gentle kisses to each and every scar, lavishing them with love.

Now, Jaskier is the one who’s endured decades of fear and disgust directed towards his body, and Geralt aches for him, aches for those lonely years Jaskier had spent without him on the Path, without anyone to tell him that he was loved, that he was beautiful. But Geralt is here now, and where he’d once hated the scars on his own body, he loves Jaskier’s scars, sees the beauty in all of them, knows that they’re a sign of Jaskier’s strength, that he survived decades on the Path until finally, finally, they found each other in Posada again. 

“You are,” Geralt insists, grabbing the soap to rub it over Jaskier’s body, over broad shoulders and strong arms, hardened by the Trials and brutal training and long years on the Path, scarred by countless fights with monsters and creatures and beasts. He scrubs away the dirt and grime, carefully cleaning the wound on Jaskier’s side which has already scabbed over, lets his hands linger on certain scars, scars that Jaskier had told him still ache on bad days.

Underneath his touch, Jaskier slowly relaxes, golden eyes going slightly distant, and Geralt keeps his touch gentle, tender, fondness glowing within him at the sight of Jaskier trusting him so easily, letting his guard down around Geralt, and he presses a soft kiss to Jaskier’s back, just above the thin scar that Jaskier had gotten from the claws of a bruxa.

Jaskier sways into his touch, and Geralt’s heart swells and swells until a melody dances on his tongue. He lets the melody spill from his lips, humming the lilting tune in a low voice, and the last of the tension seeps out of Jaskier at the sound of Geralt’s voice, his body going loose and pliant as Geralt’s humming fills the room, mingling with the steam in the air.

Geralt’s singing can’t take away decades of pain and trauma from Jaskier, but here, in this moment, he can at least lift the burden of a witcher from Jaskier’s shoulders for a few minutes, soothing his battered soul as the warmth from the bath encloses them both. 

When Geralt’s humming trails off, Jaskier opens his eyes and smiles at Geralt, soft and affectionate and tender, and steps out of the bath, pressing his naked body to Geralt’s clothed one and kissing him gently. Geralt wraps his arms around Jaskier’s wet body, bringing them closer together, and Jaskier cups Geralt’s face, his calluses rough against Geralt’s skin, his hair dripping water onto Geralt’s shoulders, and Geralt loses himself in this tender moment, just him and Jaskier, twined around each other.

Jaskier pulls back, golden eyes luminous as he looks at Geralt, a look that’s reserved only for Geralt, a look filled with warmth and love and endless affection, a look that hasn’t ever changed, whether Jaskier’s eyes are blue or slit-pupilled gold, and Geralt gazes back at him, knowing that his eyes are filled with his own love for Jaskier, carried over from one life to another.

“Beautiful,” Geralt repeats, stroking Jaskier’s cheek with the tips of his fingers, tracing over the long scar on his face, before he presses his hands to Jaskier’s chest and smiles brightly at Jaskier.

Jaskier doesn’t respond, but his answering smile makes Geralt’s heart feel full and warm, filled with tender fondness and love, and when he moves his hand to the back of Geralt’s neck, bringing him in once again, Geralt sinks into the pleasant hum of _home_.

**Author's Note:**

> THEYRE SO SOFT AND IM SO SOFT FOR THEM
> 
> (this is set in the reverse au universe at an indeterminate point in time after all the stuff i've planned for reverse au is over)


End file.
